“What are you talking like that for?”
“Oh, nothing . . . Why, I fancy here’s the gate. Yes, it is. Open it, good man.”
The watchman, feeling his way, opens the gate, leads the pilgrim out by the sleeve, and says:
“Here’s the end of the graveyard. Now you must keep on through the open fields till you get to the main road. Only close here there will be the boundary ditch—don’t fall in. . . . And when you come out on to the road, turn to the right, and keep on till you reach the mill. . . .”
“O-o-oh!” sighs the pilgrim after a pause, “and now I am thinking that I have no cause to go to Mitrievsky Mill. . . . Why the devil should I go there? I had better stay a bit with you here, sir. . . .”
“What do you want to stay with me for?”
“Oh . . . it’s merrier with you! . . . .”
“So you’ve found a merry companion, have you? You, pilgrim, are fond of a joke I see. . . .”
“To be sure I am,” says the stranger, with a hoarse chuckle. “Ah, my dear good man, I bet you will remember the pilgrim many a long year!”
“Why should I remember you?”